A/N: Want more in the His Wicked Games universe? I've started posting the sequel, Truth or Dare. See sneak peek below and check out the story in my page!

I'm elbows-deep in invoices when a shadow falls across my desk.

"Will, I'm really trying to rush on these invoices," I say without looking up to look my boss in the eye. "The bride for the wedding Memorial Day weekend called and upped her headcount… again… and despite the fact that this event is in two weeks, she said that cost was no issue even though I noted that it'd be a rush charge to get extra furniture and linens. The things these crazy women do for their 'perfect wedding,' I swear, they're nuts."

I push a hair off of my forehead as I continue to look down at the numbers the look jumbled due to the endless hours of checking and cross-checking every cost.

"Have you heard from the Robinsons?" I continue, turning to my computer. "They were supposed to call and confirm for the twenty-eighth of June. And we should probably figure out when we're doing the summer gallery show next year even though we're still trying to work out things for this summer. I already have a bride who wants to use us for her reception in—"

A hand grasps me firmly by the chin and tilts my face up. Suddenly I'm staring into a pair of intoxicating honeyed eyes, and my breath hitches in my throat.

"Have you forgotten about something?" a deep, familiar voice taunts as I can feel myself practically turning into goo.

Even after all this time – months, really – the sight of Blaine Anderson still makes my stomach do summersaults. He's looking particularly sexy right now with his broad frame accentuated with the fine cut of his navy sport coat, his hair curling slightly atop his head and his lips set in the perfect smile that manages to seem sweet and sexy all at once. But if he's here, that can only mean one thing.

"Shit!" I say, pulling out of his grip. I scrabble around on the desk, looking for my cell, but I already know what the time will say. When I do find the phone, buried beneath a file of class registration forms, the screen reads 6:53PM.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

"I swear, the last time I glanced at the time it was three o'clock." I dart around the desk, looking frantically for my wallet and keys. If I hurry, if I leave my hair as-is and don't think too much about how my shirt might not be immaculately pressed—

Blaine catches me as I try to sweep past him and draws me toward him. The motion pulls me off balance, and I fall against his chest, my hands clutching at the smooth lapels of his jacket and my nose brushing the crook of his neck. I freeze, and he loops his arms around my waist and holds me there. He smells faintly of soap and, beneath that, his own intoxicating scent. I take a deep breath, breathing him in. It's been too long since I've seen him, too long since he's held me like this in his arms.

Okay, it's only been three weeks. Three weeks since Blaine chased me through the maze on his former estate. Three weeks since I've had him in front of me, close enough to touch. Three weeks since his fingers skimmed across my bare skin, as they're dancing over my neck right now. Those three weeks might as well have been a billion years.

"You forgot? Should I be worried?" he asks.

I roll my eyes. But of course, screw-up that I am, I lose track of time on the day of our first real date. "I'm so sorry," I say. "I swear, I—"

He silences me with his lips. His mouth is gentle at first, hesitant, like he's uncertain how I'll respond after our time apart. Like he's forgotten how natural, how right our bodies feel against each other. But the minute his lips touch mine, my entire body comes alive. Goose bumps ripple across my flesh, chasing the waves of heat that rush just beneath the surface of my skin. I let out a small moan, and whatever doubts Blaine had seem to disappear.

He yanks me against his body, crushing me to his hard chest. His mouth moves hungrily, desperately, against my own, and mine meets his with equal passion. I revel in the taste of him, eager to drink it all in.

Damn, I missed this.

He's backing me up against my desk now, and I don't protest when he pushes me down on top of it. Something falls to the floor beside us. My files? The invoices? Honestly, I don't care. One of Blaine's hands moves around the small of my back while the other winds behind my neck grazing the wisps of hair at the base of my neck, his fingers gently caressing my neck in a hypnotic way that somehow feels better than when I go to the salon for a trim. Normally I would be irritated that he messed with my hair, but the way in which he's moving against me has me letting go of all my worries. He leans over me, nudging my thighs apart so he can press nearer and rub his half-hard erection next to my rapidly growing one. I can barely contain myself as the slightest pressure of our hips together sends me into a dizzying state where the only things I can process are Blaine's lips and his dick trapped against mine. There's a clatter as something else tumbles off the desk. Something big this time—probably that dinosaur of a three-hole punch we've had since this place opened.

There's no way Will didn't hear that.

Shit.